


Happiness is a Warm Puppy

by murgamurg



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A Doggo Comes to Watchpoint Gibraltar, Dogs, Feel-good, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy, M/M, Mutual Pining, very mild angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-16 04:46:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8087845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murgamurg/pseuds/murgamurg
Summary: Hanzo finds a ball of fur that waddles to him immediately. It is -- a puppy. He doesn't know what to do with a puppy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this post](http://gnarlybit.tumblr.com/post/149929882785/crotah-how-to-win-ur-cowboys-heart) on tumblr where Hanzo finds a doggo. 
> 
> This fic is my own favorite and was intended to be all one part but I just wanted to post the bit i had done so now its two.  
> Enjoy!!!
> 
> (unbeta'd)

Hanzo fits a hand into the next hold, heaving himself up Gibraltar’s sheer cliffs. Climbing is an excellent workout, essentially a form of meditation in the repetitive motion and burning muscles that ground him in the here and now. It takes his mind off things: the next mission, his relationship with his brother, Overwatch as a whole.

He crests the peak, eyes following the winding road that switchbacks on the opposite side from the base. The rosin from his hands is sticky with sweat, and he pads the more annoying bits on the sides of his hakama. He’ll wash them later.

With a sigh he plops down and pulls a bottle of water from his small climbing pack, thankful for the deep drink after such exertion. Before him, the sunset crescendos in silence, save for the wind and the distant call of seabirds.

And, well-- _another_ noise. Hanzo cranes his neck over the precipice and peers down at the road. Something small wiggles around near a guardrail. It’s keening and needy. As if in pain.

Hanzo would deny any accusation of a soft spot, especially for animals. Despite this he uses the metal plates of his synthetic feet to skid down the side of the remaining cliff and leaps from the outcrop when he reaches the bottom. There he finds a small misplaced ball of fur that waddles to him immediately.

It is -- a puppy.

It howls and whines fiercely, practically skin and bones where a puppy its size should be round and fat around the middle. The ears are large and fluffy and flop over at the pointed tips; its paws almost comically large. A big dog then, Hanzo thinks, and he wonders how long the poor thing has been out here.

The puppy nuzzles into his extended hand, and calms when he shushes and picks it up. It tucks nicely into the open folds of his _gi_ when he clambers back up the cliffside.

* * *

The puppy whimpers softly as he enters the base, lulled to sleep by the monotony of climbing. Hanzo beelines to the common room, searching for one person in particular. The puppy needs help, yes -- but Hanzo has no idea what to do. Hanamura had no space for dogs other than the vicious and slobbering weapons his father kept to intimidate rivals; however much he'd wanted one for companionship was not important.

He finds the cowboy sprawled across the couch in casual dress, the top of his flannel shirt unbuttoned, boots (sans spurs) hanging over the side. A show of Hana's is playing on the plasma screen, and McCree’s eyes droop like he's almost asleep until they flick to Hanzo, standing pensive in the doorway.

"I remember you saying you had a dog growing up?" Hanzo starts, clearing his throat and addressing McCree's questioning glance. He reaches into his _gi_ to bring out the sleeping pup.

Then, sheepish: "I, ah, found this little one near the Watchpoint."

Jesse bolts upright off the couch and his hat falls off as he does so. The look on the cowboy's face is nothing short of bewilderment: his eyes are wide, almost glistening, his mouth slightly open in a small 'o', eyes locked on the mewling thing in the archer’s hands. He approaches with caution and awe.

"I know we do not have the space for it but I was just thinking..." Hanzo continues, definitely not trying to fill the space with something other than McCree’s adorable face.

"Look at you, little darlin'," Jesse coos, ignoring Hanzo’s awkwardness, his fingers prodding at the dusty fur with surprising care. When McCree lifts the puppy from the his arms, Hanzo is struck by the gentleness of his motions. Too aware of the heat of the cowboy's hands when their fingers touch.

"I'll take it!" McCree exclaims with a sharp nod, and Hanzo startles.

"It? Huh--" Jesse lifts the puppy up by its front legs, looking underneath. "Her. I'll take her."

He cradles the dog to his chest, and Hanzo feels apart from himself. Jesse’s wide grin _dazzles_ him -- the cowboy is usually a happy man, he thinks, but he's never grinned like _that_.

“Glad ya came to me, Shimada-san,” he says, glowing.

Hanzo clears his throat.

"Well c'mon now dear, let's scrub ya up and gitcha some grub." McCree ambles over to the sink, places the puppy on the counter. Hanzo moves to exit the room, content that he’s done enough.

"Hey Hanzo, wanna grab a towel for lil’ Bessie here?"

Hanzo curses under his breath, his stealthy escape foiled. He takes a moment to grab a towel from the hallway closet before returning to meet Jesse at the sink. The cowboy happily scrubs away at the poor puppy's fur with the sink sponge, humming gently to himself. Winston would not be pleased.

"Bessie?" He asks instead, eyebrow raised.

"Yeah, that's what I'm gonna call her," McCree replies, then pauses. "Why, you don't like it?"

Hanzo is surprised. The cowboy is asking for his opinion. His eyes track from Jesse’s earnest face to the little black nose that nudges his hand through the suds.

"No. It is... sufficient, I suppose."

When she’s all clean, the little pup roots around in the towel Hanzo retrieved earlier, obviously happy to be clean. McCree leans into the fridge, prosthetic arm hanging languid on the open door. He runs thoughtful fingers through his goatee while trying to find decent food for a puppy.

* * *

"Alright y'all, we gotta little surprise for ya," Jesse starts, back turned to the group gathered in the briefing room.

Bessie has been their _little secret_ , as McCree put it, for the past week or so. Keeping the puppy hidden in such a large base was trivial, but making the others aware of her presence would only be prudent-- or, so Hanzo had argued. The situation required smoothing over with Winston, who was certainly _not_ happy about agents harboring an animal in their rooms, but it did not take him long to relent. Winston held responsibility for calling the current meeting, after all.

After some unnecessary eyebrow waggling, McCree turns around, and the room collectively gasps. Except for Hanzo, of course.

"This here's Bessie," Jesse drawls, index fingers on both hands pointing to his chest.

Hanzo frowns. Even after a week of regular eating, she's still small enough to fit in his shirt pocket.

“Oh my gooooood!” Hana almost screams. "That's _sooooo_ cute! Bessie and Jesse!"

Immediately, McCree ducks his head and scratches at the back, sheepish. "Aw hell. Course It damn rhymes," he grumbles, far too attached to change it now.

"Anyway. Hanzo's the one who found her,” He throws out his prosthetic towards the archer, directing the room’s attention.

Hanzo looks up from his place leaning against the wall. He much prefers Jesse as the central focus, and had hung back from the start on purpose. Now, many pairs of eyes cast him a questioning glance, and he is extremely uncomfortable.

"I was climbing," he says, explaining himself though no one asked. "She was by the road."

There is an awkward silence.

"So... you brought her to McCree?" Genji cocks his head to the side in a familiar gesture.

Hanzo only shrugs. "He has owned a dog before. It was a logical choice."

Lena crosses her arms and shifts her weight to one hip. A smirk darts across her face and she asks, "I didn't know you had a dog, Jesse."

"Yessiree,” The brim of McCree’s hat bobs in a cascading nod. “That there was the meanest dog I ever met. Musta been half coyote, would run with me an’ the boys back in the day. Took a shine to me in particular, never knew why. Even saved my ass once or twice fore he got himself shot up over some bacon."

McCree looks down at the puppy wiggling in his pocket, and his flesh hand scratches behind her ear. "Shit. He weren't nothin like lil’ miss Bessie here though. She's a right sweetheart.”

Hanzo enjoys his warm grin far too much.

Angela smiles like she knows a secret. "I'm sure she will be well cared for," she comments, looking pointedly at Hanzo.

* * *

The months go by, and Bessie gets bigger.

There is a customary stage of mayhem: she chews up a few pairs of neglected shoes and one of Lucio’s headsets. She has an unfortunate incident regarding Winston’s peanut butter stash, which both Hanzo and Jesse pay dearly for in terms of scathing glances and boring assignments. Collectively, the team becomes adjusted to living with a dog -- they pick up after themselves more often, and watch out for potential dog-related hazards, like paper towels that Bessie loves to shred, or pieces of chocolate that touch the floor. Angela takes care to spay her at the proper time so they don't end up with any additional strays. Bessie, for her part, seems happier because of it.

The rest of them don't really know what to do with a dog, but Jesse seems to. He takes her out on his walks around the base regularly, trains her in basic dog etiquette: recalls, sit, stay, and the like. McCree tells him on more than one occasion that she makes for a good guard dog.

Hanzo finds them outside one afternoon, looking down from the Watchpoint’s balcony. He ignores the swell in his chest when Jesse grins up at him.

"What are you doing?" Hanzo calls over the short distance.

"Jes playin a lil fetch with my girl," McCree shouts back, throwing the tennis ball with his flesh arm, holding on to his hat with the other.

Bessie bolts off. When she comes back, ball snug in her mouth, Jesse rubs behind her ears and points at the balcony.  
  
"Look Bess! It's Hanzo!"  
  
The dog follows McCree’s hand and sees him. She wags her tail furiously, barks at the balcony, runs in a circle as if to say: _come play!_

Still, Hanzo feels a pang of regret. She is, of course, more fond of Jesse. Who wouldn't be? The man has raised her, trained her. He is gregarious, friendly. Warm and comforting, like the blanket wrapped around his broad shoulders. What is Hanzo compared to that?

No, she is certainly more fond of Jesse. And Jesse is certainly more fond of her.

* * *

Hanzo runs his fingers through Bessie's soft fur. She's curled up with him in one of Gibraltar's study rooms, nestled half in his lap while he catches up on a particularly interesting read about cultural archery in Northern Africa. He is relaxed, dressed in a casual western cotton shirt and sweatpants. Almost too relaxed, he thinks, eyes drooping.

The dog’s fur is heaven under his fingers. Despite previous thoughts, he is not jealous of her. In a way she is much like Jesse himself -- she only knows how to give affection like an unending torrent. And give she does.

Both heads perk up at the faint jingling of spurs coming from the hall, ears focused on the noise.

"There y'all are," Jesse drawls when he stops in the doorway, leaning on the jamb with his synthetic elbow. "Winston wanted to go over somethin’ with ya later, Shimada."

Hanzo nods. "Thank you. I will seek him out when I am finished."

"Also, uh," McCree swipes the hat from his head. His fingers fidget with the brim. "I was gonna take this lil’ lady for a walk later. Was wondrin’ if you'd wanna come along,"

Hanzo considers a moment, and then nods again. "Of course."

"Aight, I'll get outta yer hair," McCree lingers. "If she uh. If she's botherin’ you, let me know."

"She is not. It is... quite nice, actually," Hanzo concedes. Bessie takes the opportunity to snuggle more firmly into his thigh.

"You treat Hanzo good now Bess. Soften him up for me," McCree says with a wink, and saunters off.

Hanzo’s attention returns to his book. He sees the words on the page, but cannot read them.

* * *

The walks become a regular occurrence. Sometimes they go up the cliffs, others just around the base itself. Today they stroll on the small beach that encrusts the Watchpoint's rocky bay.

The sun is on it’s way below the sea. Hanzo observes it and the clouds it paints with a quiet awe, perpetually thankful for nature and the beautiful paintings it provides. If Jesse were not here beside him -- if Bessie were not here for exercise -- he might come here to meditate. The quiet crash of the surf, the comfortable breeze, the smell of saltwater. It would put him in nothing short of a trance.

Jesse, he assumes, is ignorant of all these things. He lopes alongside the archer, matching his shorter strides. Thick brown hair whips into his face underneath the snug fit of his hat. He whistles around the cigarillo; a warning to keep Bessie off the more dangerous rocks as the dog wanders ahead.

Hanzo smiles fondly. As she grows, she becomes more and more adventurous.

He does not think before he speaks.

"How do you do that? I have always wondered," he muses.

“Do what?” McCree asks. "You tellin me you can't whistle?"

Hanzo resists the need to put his foot into his mouth, or so Jesse says.

"I have never had the need," he clarifies instead.

McCree considers. "Well, it's simple. You just, well.... You whistle."

Hanzo's mouth quirks at his poor explanation.

"Aw hell I dunno Shimada. You just kinda... Blow out some air. Use your teeth to make it y'know... Whistle,” He explains, exasperated.

"Very helpful," Hanzo quips, smug in his rebuttal. The scoff he receives is well worth the effort.

Jesse prods him however, after a few steps in silence: "Well, go on then."

"What?"

"Go on and try it! Just try to whistle."

Hanzo shoots him a glare. "I will look foolish. You will mock me."

"Aw come on now sweetheart! You know I'd do no such thing,” he coaxes. The grin on the cowboy’s face is nothing less than saccharine. It forces Hanzo to concede.

He nods, and purses his lips for an attempt. When he blows, the air that emerges is noiseless. He flushes immediately, snapping his head away from Jesse’s gentle chuckles.  
  
"No no, come on, try again,” Jesse soothes him. “Yer tryn’a make the air comin out uh--” The cowboy searches for the right word, “--vibrate, I guess."

He tries again, and feels some vibration. Tries again, and again, as McCree gives him small pointers along the way. Maybe purse his tongue a bit? Maybe use his teeth. _Whistle_.  

On the fifth try he gets a fleeting note. Bessie comes running up to him, tail wagging, expectant for a command.

"Hey, looky there!” The metal hand shoves at his shoulder. “Fast learner!"

McCree is grinning at him, wide and warm. The warmth blooming in his chest is preposterous. Absurd. But it is there nonetheless.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and heres pt 2! this one is more jesse-centric.
> 
> unbeta'd, might come back with some edits later for word choice but I'm p happy with this. also took out some of the more angsty parts to keep it all light and toot-rotting sweet. 
> 
> hope you enjoy!

McCree saunters off the transport, spurs jingling. Two weeks spent in London were two weeks spent in tedium; a reconnaissance mission full to the brim with boredom. Lena chats behind him, packing her things with animated gestures as the plane powers down. A loud and throaty chuckle breaks from Reinhardt on Jesse’s left, and he laughs freely at the smart-mouthed brit’s clever jibes.

It’s livelier than any of them have been all week. If McCree never has to see the inside of a King’s Row flat again, it’ll be too soon.

Genji moves past the cowboy and claps a hand on his shoulder, proceeds down the ramp. The cyborg’s head inclines towards his brother who loiters further down the space pad, before leaping gracefully off the roof.

Hanzo has his arms crossed, and leans against the stairwell that leads down into the Watchpoint. Bessie stands up from where she’d been lying at Hanzo’s feet. She recognizes Jesse immediately. Her shaggy head looks at McCree and then Hanzo, then McCree again. The archer turns his head, says something to her-- and then she’s sprinting over to Jesse without a moment’s hesitation, tail wagging like like a flag in a hurricane.

A wide grin splits his face when Bessie practically leaps into his arms. Hanzo just waves.

“Hey there pretty girl,” Jesse coos. She’s whining a bit, ears laid back like she thought he’d never return. She deserves the good scratches behind the ear, and maybe under the chin. It settles her down.

Bessie noses under his hand as he makes his way over to the archer; she’s almost big enough to reach his thigh.

“Howdy,” he says, stopping in front of Hanzo. He pushes his his hat up with his thumb. At a loss for something else to say.

There’s an odd quirk to Hanzo’s normally stoic frown. Like he’s trying far too hard to not smile, and Jesse’d be a liar if he wasn’t still grinning like a fool. A loud burst of giggles from behind them -- Lena, of course -- breaks the tension, and Hanzo eyes the transport over McCree’s shoulder.

“Come,” Hanzo beckons suddenly. “I have something to show you.”

Jesse follows without question, curiosity piqued. He and Bessie are stuck like glue trailing Hanzo through Gibraltar’s winding halls. For his part, McCree desperately tries not to ogle the way the muscles in Hanzo’s back shift underneath his light sweater.

They reach the common room, and Hanzo moves to grab something out of a cabinet. He hesitates, sheepish.

“I have taught her some… tricks. I, uh, found them. On the internet.”

A bag of treats is clutched in his hand when he turns back around. Bessie notices, because of course she does, and plops herself in front of him with a huff and attentive eyes.  

Jesse chuckles. An image springs to his mind: Hanzo’s face lit by a computer screen with a serious, crinkled brow, poring over dog training videos. Spending any downtime patiently repeating the exercises over and over with an excitement-prone Bessie.

It’s just too damn cute.

“I reckon y’all were just as bored as we were,” He wheedles.

“That is an understatement,” Hanzo deadpans, rolling his eyes.

Hanzo holds out his hand, palm up. Bessie is well aware of the treat bag held behind his back.

"Give me your paw," he commands. Bessie lifts a paw to place in his outstretched hand.

"Good girl," he gives her a pat on the head, and a quick treat. She chomps it down with fervor. "Now. Give me your _other_ paw," he says, and as expected, Bessie places the opposite paw in Hanzo's hand.

"Good," he says again, measured, and then places the treat bag on the counter.

"Now. Observe closely, cowboy. You will like this one,"  He says cryptically, mischief evident in the quirk of his lips, the little crinkles at the edge of his eyes. If Jesse were sitting, he’d be on the edge of his seat. Instead, he loops his thumbs into his belt, and waits.

Hanzo forms his hand into the shape of a gun: thumb for the hammer, index and middle finger for the barrel, ring and pinky for the grip. He points it at the dog.

"Bang!" He snaps his wrist back, mimicking recoil. The dog flops over onto her back, rolling around until she falls still, tongue lolling out of her mouth.

Jesse just. Naw.

His jaw hangs open. Hanzo cocks an eyebrow, sly grin curling up enough to show his teeth. It is excruciatingly difficult for Jesse to not kiss the damn thing off.

He has a thing for Hanzo. He's known for a long time, even before the man walked in holding the cutest ball of fur Jesse'd ever seen. But now, he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

“She is a fast learner,” Hanzo crosses his arms, completely smug.

The twinkle in his eye makes it hard to breathe.

* * *

Initially, Bessie wasn’t allowed into the mess at dinnertime. Her exaggerated pouting and pathetic whines quickly put an end to that, so long as she stayed away from the cabinet of peanut butter in the back-- locked shut, after the _incident-that-must-not-be-named_.

Now she’s a regular fixture. She worms her way under the table, greets the members as they sit, and snuffles for scraps. Tonight she reclines under Jesse’s feet; her warm belly rises and falls under his bare soles.

Halfway into the meal Jesse rests his hand on his knee. Two seconds later there’s a wet nose pressing for the meaty juices that still cling to his fingers.

Well… what could a little piece of chicken hurt?

Hanzo is paying polite attention to Mei’s diatribe on the global warming crisis of the late 21st century, head turned the other direction. McCree breaks off a meaty bit from his sandwich to slip under the table.

The slap is sharp and loud-- on the other side of the table, Fareeha jumps. _Dang_ it smarts like hell and McCree can’t help his pathetic whimper. Hanzo doesn’t even turn around.  

"Aw c'mon darlin, she can have a little treat can't she?" He pleads.

"No. Absolutely not." The archer takes another bite from his own meal.

Jesse pokes his bottom lip in a pout, shaking out his hand.

Hanzo is immoveable. "You will ruin her diet. Do you want her to have an upset stomach later?"

"No," he grumbles. "But she just looks so dang cute when she begs like that."

"I assure you, it is part of her plan," Hanzo concedes, and the discussion ends.

Fareeha spares Jesse a smug glance. He sneers back at her and tucks into the rest of his food, ignoring the shaggy head resting on his thigh.

* * *

“Afternoon, doc,” Jesse greets. He pats the metal examination table, and Bessie hops right up.

“Jesse,” Angela nods in return. “Bessie,” She greets the panting canine, trying not to laugh at the rhyme.

Jesse ignores it. He’s used to the joke by now, and it’s his own damn fault anyway. His flesh hand scratches behind Bessie’s scruff; he tells her to stay. Spurs jangle when he moseys to the guest chair and plops himself down.

He itches idly against the cloth on his chest, observing as Angela begins her examination.

"I reckon she's about a year now, right?"

Angela hums and glances at her datapad. "Correct. She will be a year old in a few days. We'll have to throw her a party."

There are a few moments of silence. Angela opens Bessie’s mouth, prods at her joints, looking for signs of pain. She pulls a flashlight from her pocket and shines it in the dog’s eyes, checking  pupil dilation.

After a few marks, she hums in approval.

"No more malnutrition, excellent muscle tone. Your fathers have been taking good care of you, hmm?" She asks the dog, rewarding her with a light scratch on the nose. Bessie seems elated at the attention.

McCree grouses. "Awh hell Angie, you make us sound like a couple or somethin.”

"And you are not?” Angela laughs.”I am not blind. We _all_ see the looks you give each other."

"Naw," he rubs his jaw with his flesh hand, looks away. He wants it to be true, to play coy. But he can’t. "Naw. We ain't," he bleats, sadly.

Angela frowns.

A gentle hand pats his shoulder. "Oh, Jesse..."

* * *

Thunder cracks outside. All day the clouds have been oppressive and threatening; finally, they open and unleash the torrent of water.

Hanzo reads and sips on a hot cup of _sen-cha_. Jesse lounges on the couch, watching the plasma screen, volume turned down low. It’s just the two of them in the rec room, and they relish the quiet calm brought on by a raging thunderstorm.

Hanzo’s head perks up with another trembling rumble.

“Have you seen Bessie?” He asks.  

Jesse shakes his head. “Last I saw her she was… “

Lightning splits the sky. Their eyes meet.

“Outside.”

They rush downstairs and out into the rain. Bessie can’t have gone very far -- the storm just started, after all. Maybe she’d come back inside already; she can’t possibly enjoy being out in this, can she?

Jesse goes one way, bellowing her name over the loud storm. Hanzo stumbles off in the other direction. It is only wise for them to cover the most ground.

Not even a minute has gone by and his hair is slick and plastered against his face, his kyudo-gi already soaked through and sticking. He whistles for her, once, twice, sharp and loud over a crack of thunder.

A four-legged silhouette slinks out from underneath an overhang further down, and comes running. Relief floods through him.

When they get back inside, Jesse is already there. He shuffles about, runs his hands through his hair in worry. The hat in his hand drips steadily on to the floor, his serape heavy with water.

“I found her,” He grins at the cowboy, stepping into the entryway. Bessie trails in behind him, absolutely _covered_ in mud.

McCree holds out his hands. “No, no no--!”

It’s too late. She starts the shake and splatters them both. Jesse, in his rush to stop her, slips on the slick caked on his boot, and falls.

He flails an arm out to keep himself upright and catches Hanzo’s forearm. They tumble to the ground in a heap -- clanking and groaning with the force of impact on the concrete floor. Bessie just pounces on them, ready for playtime as ever, and tries to lick Jesse’s face.

“Got-damnit you lil’ gremlin! Stop that!” Jesse splutters, pushing her head away.

Hanzo’s shoulders begin to shake where they’re uncomfortably sprawled into Jesse’s chest. Hanzo is laughing. Belly-laughing, deep and rich, like McCree has never heard.

 _Damn_. He oughta--

He oughta tell Hanzo how he feels.

* * *

Bessie wakes him up with licks in the middle of the night. She whines, tries to shove her nose under his chin, gives a quiet _‘boof’_. When his eyes finally crack open, she just stares at him in the dark. Like she can stare her thoughts into his mind. It’s a little creepy.

He mumbles, groggy: "What is it, darlin?"

And then he hears it. A quiet _tap tap,_ pacing outside his door. Years of wetwork put him on instant alert.

McCree slides out of bed, noiseless as he can. Snags a dirty pair of sweatpants from the floor and slips them on over his boxers. Peacekeeper gleams on his dresser in quiet reassurance.

He opens the door.

Hanzo freezes outside. His hair, usually well-kept, is sticking out of the high tail like he's been pulling at it.

"Hanzo?"

The archer’s lips press into a line. He composes himself.

"I apologize for waking you."

"Naw, Bess woke me. It's nothin’," he says. There’s a beat of silence, and Jesse itches at his bare chest. He’s never seen Hanzo so... flustered. "Uh. Something wrong?"

Hanzo clears his throat. "No, I --  I should go--"

"Naw hey hold on."

"I should not," Hanzo shakes his head and turns to leave.

The archer is touchy about touches. Jesse seizes his bicep anyway, forcing Hanzo to face him. "C'mon you stubborn ass, just tell me what's--"

Hanzo rushes forward and tugs him down and kisses him, hard. Jesse stutters and relents, gets back on track, then moans as Hanzo presses forward insistently. The two of them stumble back against the wall chest to chest. Jesse can’t breathe, and pulls away, panting. He rests his forehead against Hanzo's, and wraps the other man close.

He needs to say it. He needs to say it now.

"Shit, Hanzo, i just, I think--" he gasps for breath. His fingers twitch where they clutch at Hanzo's ribs. "I think I'm in love with you."

Hanzo's eyes fly open, astonished. His pupils flick back and forth, searching Jesse’s own. Trying to determine if the cowboy is serious.

"As I am with you," he rushes out, and kisses Jesse again, threading dexterous fingers into the gunslinger's sleep-mussed hair.

The strangled noise that comes out of Jesse’s throat is embarrassing.

Slowly, they stumble back through Jesse's open door, clumsy with the want of each other. The backs of Jesse's knees hit the bed and he crumples, bringing Hanzo on top of him with a quiet 'oof'.

He tries to resume his new favorite activity, but Hanzo stops him with a hand on his chest.

"The dog, Jesse," he says, and they both turn to look at Bessie in the doorway.

She's watching them expectantly, ears perked and tail wagging slow, a little uncertain. Still full of that eager affection that Jesse loves so much.

He sighs, shifts Hanzo off of him, and goes to the door.

"Sorry honey bee," he scratches behind her ears. She licks at his fingers. "Daddy's gotta have some alone time."

She whines and scuffs at the door when he shuts her out, and it tugs at Jesse’s heartstrings. Hanzo scowls, not unaffected by her pitiful noises.

"She'll be alright," Jesse says, flopping down on the bed next to him. It's a little small for two grown men, but hell if they ain't gonna try and make it work.

He waggles his eyebrows. "Now. Where were we?"

* * *

McCree reclines in the common room, or at least as well as he can in the flimsy plastic chairs that serve as a breakfast nook. The cup of coffee is warm and relaxing in his hands. Genji slurps up a bowl of fruit loops beside him; his visor rests on the table. Bessie sprawls out on her back over near the windows, soaking up the morning sunlight with her soft belly.

“So. McCree,” Genji pauses at his breakfast. Jesse’s eyes slide over, all ears.

“When are you going to make a move on my brother?”

McCree snorts. That wasn’t the question he was expecting.

“What makes you think I haven’t?” He sips on his coffee to hide his grin.

Genji swallows another spoonful of sugary grains. “Angela is a gossip,” he explains.

The telltale taps from the hallway cause Jesse to roll his eyes.

“Just watch,” he says to Genji.

Hanzo grumbles as he makes his way into the kitchen. He’s usually the early riser out of the two of them, but the late nights have been starting to take their toll. Jesse, however, is used to an irregular sleep schedule. He deals with it a mite better.

The archer mumbles a good morning, and moves to the counter to make tea. McCree takes the opportunity to appreciate the man’s bare chest, the sweatpants slung low around his hips.

Jesse speaks up when Hanzo turns to leave: “Hey there darlin, don't I get a good morning kiss?”

The drowsy dragon leans down to press a soft peck to his cheek. “ _Ohayo, anata_ ,” he says, and pads out of the room with tea in hand.

“Hehe, told ya so,” Jesse laughs, waggling his eyebrows at Genji’s open-mouthed stare.

Genji’s eyebrows touch his hairline. “Do you know what he just called you?”

“Huh?” McCree asks. “Why, is it somethin’ bad?”

The cyborg just laughs and laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as I understand "anata" is an endearment wives use with husbands. I don't know much about japanese other than what google has taught me tho.
> 
> thanks so much for reading (and all your sweet comments)!!


End file.
